…fourteen-one thousand, his nose crinkled.
…seventeen-one thousand, he coughed.
…nineteen-one thousand, he lurched off the couch, tangled in the blanket and cushions, heaving.
I staggered, racing to put the bag under his mouth.
My stomach rolled as he blew his first chunks, grabbing the bag from me.
By his second heave, I was swallowing rapidly.
“Three, two, one…” Cole’s deep voice reverberated from behind me.
A hand appeared in front of my face, holding another trash bag just as I started to choke. I snatched it quick, bent over, and started retching. Brent and I’s gags filled the room. What a mornin’.
“That’s just fucking gross,” Zane mumbled after a few ticks, making a gagging sound himself.
Cole slipped an arm under my waist, supporting me. His fingers pushed my hair back between heaves. “Still think that was the best plan?”
“Shut up…”Heave!“Dad.”
Cole actually chuckled. “I’m not acting like a parent, Ember. I’m acting like an adult.”
“Whatever,” I mumbled, and then started dry heaving. Almost done. Hallelujah.
“Damn. That’s some impressive puking.” Stash observed with way too much spunk. I’m thinking he’s a strange one.
“What the fuck?” Brent choked from the ground.
“Morning, sunshine,” Ally jibed, still picking up trash. The woman never puked. It was against her religion or something. Although, she had deserted us to clean the other side of the room. She may be able to listen to it without repercussions, but she had a very sensitive nose.
Brent groaned and rolled back on the rubble, closing his eyes, blanket and cushions under and over him. “I feel like shit.”
“We never would have guessed,” Zane commented dryly, green around the gills. He had the funniest expression of disgusted horror of his face. I would have laughed if I had felt a mite better and wasn’t holding a puke filled bag.
“You done now?” Cole asked softly.
“I think so,” I murmured, spitting into the trash bag. This wasn’t one of my finer moments.
He took the bag-o-puke from me and tied it off, holding it with one hand. “Hold on to me,” he ordered. That was all the warning I got before he stepped in front of me, close enough that our shoes bumped, and bent down, wrapped his free arm under my butt and lifted me off the floor. I squeaked, automatically throwing my arms around his neck and legs around his waist.
“Ember?” Brent’s eyes cracked at my pathetic sound, but didn’t really focus.
I ignored him. I had a rock-solid man keeping me suspended off the ground as he hiked through wreckage to deal with. “Cole, what the heck are you doing?” My head spun. Too much movement.
Head falling to his shoulder, I groaned.
He paused. “Are you going to puke again?”
“No,” I moaned. I had done my puking. I only ever did it once after too much drink. “But you’re movin’ too darn fast.”
He grunted and trekked on, but taking shorter, smoother strides.
“Thanks,” I grumbled and he squeezed my thigh. We passed the doorway. “Where in the Sam-hell are you taking me, anyway?”
“Ember?” Brent moaned behind us, his voice faint in the increasing distance. “Where the hell did you go?” I could hear Ally say something to him, but couldn’t discern what it was.
All Cole said was, “You need a shower and we need to talk.”
